Color by Letter: Tony Stark
by mtfrosty
Summary: Tony Stark by alphabet, the English alphabet to be specific. A series of short sketches by letter: drop me some ideas in the reviews and if any strike my fancy I'll use them. Most recent chapter: Care
1. A is for Anthropology

_Anthropology: the study of human language, culture, societies, biological and material remains; study of human behavior and societies in the past and present_

* * *

He's twitchy. Bruce notices this right away, but he's certain everyone notices. It's not exactly something the billionaire tries to hide. Bruce isn't even sure Tony knows just how twitchy he is. It's a natural thing almost, and if Tony is actually _playing_ at being so fidgety, then he's very _very_ good at it.

But that's beside the point. It doesn't matter. Bruce just notices it, so he thinks it's worth thinking about every so often. There has to be a _reason_ that someone is as twitchy as this guy is.

Nevertheless…

Tony is also a deep thinker, a quick thinker, and a scattered thinker. It's strange to find such a combination in one person, but Bruce can't deny what he sees and hears. The man also has an uncanny ability to _pick things up_ in a very short amount of time.

Things as complicated as thermonuclear astrophysics (Bruce didn't even know that was a thing at the time…) and things even more complicated such as people. The second is admittedly harder than the first and while Bruce will heartily agree that Tony is crap at communication and is sorely lacking in the tact department, he will vehemently affirm the man's skill in _understanding_ another person. It's not exactly empathy, because the man is horribly selective in the people whose feelings he actually decides to care about and relate to.

It's close, though. Tony _gets_ people.

It had taken only a matter of hours for the man to decide that poking Bruce with a sharp lab instrument wouldn't get him killed. Bruce hadn't been sure what to do with that, he'd been so caught off guard (though his first thought had been: _friend_). And it had only been after the whole New York incident that Cap had told him that of the five of them, Tony had been the only one that thought Bruce would show up.

Bruce isn't used to being understood so easily.

He watches Tony from across their shared lab space as he taps a pencil on a scribble-laden notepad. The engineer prefers holograms and computer jargon to lead and paper. Bruce is the old-fashioned one. Right now, Tony has a pencil between his teeth while five fingers fly over his custom-made keyboard and the other five are clenched semi-tightly around a coffee mug. Bruce frowns. "Tony?"

The man blinks, seeming to snap out of something. Dark eyes focus through the hologram and narrow in on Bruce's face. "Hm?"

"Why me?"

Now Tony is frowning. The coffee mug ends up on the desk top and the pencil is taken from his mouth. Of _course _the other fingers remain on the keyboard, and if they occasionally move distractedly, Bruce pays them no mind, because whatever it is they're doing, it isn't absentmindedness on Tony's part. He's used to the other man continuing to work while he simultaneously holds a conversation. "Why you what?"

"Why do you trust me?"

The frown is replaced with a knowing smirk. "Mutual understanding."

"What?"

"We're both mad scientists, Bruce. Emphasis on the _mad_ part." Tony's eyes shift back to his work. "Unlike most people, _you_ don't freak and run away."

It takes a moment, but then Bruce understands what Tony is saying. He's… oddly touched. They fall back into their work in _mutual_ silent agreement that the topic will not be discussed in the future. Bruce is not used to being understood so easily and while he knows that he doesn't have the slightest _clue_ as to what goes on in the other man's head, he can appreciate the fact that _Tony_ appreciates him staying in spite of not knowing.

Perhaps eventually he'll tell his friend exactly what and who the Hulk is and how he functions. Knowing Tony, though, the man probably already has some fairly accurate guesses. And yet…

Tony stays too.


	2. B is for Butler

_Butler: the chief manservant of a house who has charge of other employees, receives guests, directs the serving of meals, and performs various personal services_

* * *

In hindsight (much, much, _much_ later), they realize that none of them had known exactly what it had taken for Tony to put Jarvis' matrix, his _mind_, into the shell. But in the moment? No one considers it.

The body they steal from Ultron is a husk, empty and without life. Tony understands immediately what might happen (eventually) if he is to put his friend into that husk. If he is to bring this body to life. Bodies… well, they have an unfortunate habit of dying. Android or human, it doesn't make a difference. Tony is no fool. He knows that if this _being_ dies, Jarvis dies (again) with him. Tony won't be able to bring him back.

But that's a selfish thought, and Tony is trying to be self_less_. He's trying. He really is. Doing this is their best chance of ridding the world of Ultron.

So when Vision wakes and the process is done (over with, finished, _permanent_), Tony just feels numb. He knows that his expression looks just as cautious, just as skeptical, and just as on-edge as the rest of them, but he is none of those things. If he weren't so in shock due to what he'd just done, he might be furious with himself.

When it, _Vision_, lifts Mjolnir Tony isn't surprised. Thor gives him an awkward smile and thumps him on the shoulder, obviously inferring that whatever made Vision worthy somehow, _someway_ came from him. Tony, fortunately for Thor, doesn't have the energy to feel insulted by the obvious doubt in his smile.

Because he knows better.

Vision isn't worthy because of him; he's worthy because of _Jarvis_. Not J.A.R.V.I.S. That's an equally false assumption. The emphasis in the acronym had always been on _Another_.

Tony remembers the man well, which he considers a very fortunate thing.

"I am not Ultron." Vision pauses, looking around at them. "I am not Jarvis, either."

_No,_ Tony thinks, _you're not_. He speaks and sounds like the man, sure. But the world is full of phonies and Tony knows that he will never relate to _this_ one like he related to his A.I. He leaves the impromptu, accidental meeting feeling absolutely gutted.

Pepper is able to reassure him that his memories of his old butler are what mean the most in the end. Not J.A.R.V.I.S and not Vision. His memories reflect the man himself like nothing else ever will. Tony is able to at least maintain a professional relationship with Vision after that, but there will always be an undercurrent of tension between them, as well as a big fat line that will never be crossed.

Vision does what he was _made_ to do, at least. Ultron never stood a chance.

In hindsight, Tony realizes he had been the only one to believe that victory would be a _certainty_. He also decides to never base any future A.I.s on actual people, because honestly? He never wants to go through that again.


	3. C is for Care

_Care: to feel concern or interest; __att__ach import__ance to something (shout out to Rasi10 for the prompt)_

* * *

"Miss Rushman!"

Tony Stark comes bounding (she has no other word for it) into her small office space with a crinkled mass of documents held in his right hand. His other hand holds a pen which he twirls distractedly as he drops the mess of forms on her desk. "Yes, Mr. Stark," she intones, careful to keep any trace of condescension out of her voice. There are honestly days where she feels more like an overcompensated babysitter than an undercover SHIELD operative, and she's told Fury as much.

Her admiration for one Pepper Potts continues to grow with every interaction she is forced to have with the egotistical billionaire.

"I need you to review these for me. Make sure there aren't any loopholes that potential clients can exploit or legal details that I've forgotten to include or, you know, grammatical mistakes. This is an entirely new and very cool product and it wouldn't do to be embarrassed by grammar errors or any other such nonsense…"

She misses the last half of his diatribe, completely baffled by the incoherent script of the documents he's asked her to review. "I'm fluent in quite a few languages, Stark. This isn't one of them."

This is enough to silent the babbling mechanic and he reaches forward with a stained and calloused hand to snatch them back. "Oh." He blinks and the barest hint of a smirk flickers on his lips before it's gone. "Right. Sorry. Here's your copy."

Half of the mess ends up back on her desk and she flicks an annoyed eyebrow at him. "_My_ copy? I may not be able to read it, but I strongly recommend getting it to someone who can. I'll try not to feel insulted at your obvious enjoyment at the fact that I do not speak a language that you happen to be conversant in."

The smirk returns in full force. "Wordy much? And I'm _semi_-conversant. My accent gets in the way. You know, tonal languages and all that. My vocal habits don't exactly translate all that well to Japanese. It comes out all chopped up and not very smooth."

"But it still translates," she feels compelled to point out, but why encourage him? Perhaps it's the way the smirk disappears and his head tilts slightly as his eyes narrow. The smile that appears is small, but it looks genuine.

"I guess that's what counts."

"Yes." She leaves it at that, casts a glance at her very _English_ copies and sets them to the side. "Japanese?"

The smiles remains and she's genuinely shocked that there is very little trace of his blimp-sized ego. "Stark Industries has a subsidiary in Japan. Stark-Fujikawa. I feel like you should already know that, though…"

She nods. "I do. But that doesn't mean you're required to speak the language. Hundreds of business owners employ interpreters that travel with them."

The smile shrinks a little and she wonders at that. "If they can't put in the effort to learn the language of the people who buy and sponsor their products or partner in business with them, than that says something. Me personally? I care enough to learn the language, no matter how ugly it might sound coming out of my mouth." He smirks again, but it's not directed at her. "Maybe with practice it might start to sound a little prettier." He nods at the forms he handed her. Something about a HUD prototype. "Thanks for double-checking them. I'll try to find someone who speaks Japanese to review these ones."

With that said, he leaves her office. Natasha knows he speaks French and Russian as well, but now she starts to wonder _why_. She'd assumed he'd been just another tech-head who'd picked up Japanese from simple exposure to instruction manuals and software that had no need to be transcribed into English.

And maybe he _had_. But he'd become _fluent_ for an entirely different reason; a reason that was surprisingly respectable.

When she starts to feel the smallest bit of admiration towards Miss Potts' _boyfriend_, Natasha smothers it immediately. One good deed does not a good man make, and where Tony Stark is concerned this is a thousand times true.

***oo***

It's after the whole Loki incident that she decides to just be blunt with him. It's not as if she owes him any pretense of respect anymore (she's beginning to respect him for entirely different and much more _real_ reasons). There is no longer a need for any of that 'Mr. Stark' crap. Not that she'd used it much anyway…

"I have a question," she says.

He turns from where he's making the morning coffee. There's a disgruntled, annoyed pucker to his face that indicates that he's seen the mess of coffee grounds in the sink. Clint is the guilty party, but she's not about to out a friend. "I have an answer." He pauses. "Maybe. I dunno. It's early and someone's killed the gobbler _again_, so I'm in a mood."

She's not phased. "Why do you speak French and Russian?"

His face flattens and he rolls his eyes. "Really? I was expecting something more profound. Or subtle. More spy-like."

"What makes you think this isn't?"

Stark shoots her a look over his shoulder as he kneels to see into the cupboard beneath the sink. "This is stemming from the whole spiel with the HUD documents, right?"

He turns his attention to the plumbing and misses her frown. "I'm curious by nature."

"Or necessity," he grunts.

"Both," she retorts, smirking at his back. "And if it is stemming from that, so what? It's a simple question."

It doesn't take him long to unclog the piping and blades of the gobbler. In a few minutes he's standing and leaning against the counter so he can face her squarely. "You know, I used to get _pissed off_ when people came at me with assumptions veiled in the form of questions, so if that's what you're doing right now, then I suggest you apologize and move on."

She smiles at this. He doesn't. "I'm not, actually. But I did before the whole Japanese thing." His eyebrows tick up at that. "This isn't that. I just want to know."

The smirk that follows isn't the playful, egotistical one or the know-it-all one that he wears far too often. It's something with an edge to it that she finds _familiar._ "You think I trust you enough for this?"

_You're like a triple imposter._

Natasha sighs, suddenly tired. "This isn't me attempting a get-to-know-you icebreaker, Stark. Consider this a question from one multilingual person to another."

"You mean from a multilingual spy to a multilingual inventor slash businessman slash SHIELD consultant." He pauses to pour himself a cup of coffee. "Don't downplay the context. Ever. Big mistake." He turns back around holding two cups. Offering her one, he smiles. It's got those same familiar edges to it. "I speak French because it's a well-used language in the international business world and I speak Russian for the same reasons. That's it. Plain and simple."

She takes a sip, not breaking eye contact. "And Urdu?"

The smile widens. The impression it gives is that of a shark getting ready to kill something. "Like I said. Multilingual _spy._" He takes a long swig as he brushes by her towards the door. Before he passes through it, he turns and gestures casually at himself. "Multilingual _businessman_. Tricks of the trade and all that jargon… maybe you should look in a mirror, princess. You seem to be under the impression that we're very different people." Another gulp of coffee. "I've been profiled a gazillion times. Prove that I can trust you and maybe I'll give you some real answers."

She can't help it. "You already have, Stark. Spy, remember?"

Cue overly fake smile and cocky shake of the head. "Mm. Right. Must've forgotten that little detail. Enjoy your coffee. Feel free to have seconds." He turns with a flippant wave of his hand and leaves her standing all alone in one of the tower's six kitchens.

Natasha feels simultaneously victorious and frustrated. She knows him better than he thinks she does and yet?

Tony Stark remains an enigma. One that's ever-changing on the outside and rock solid on the inside and she feels she'll never get past the surface.

***oo***

Natasha Romanoff is the type of person that Tony Stark is extra careful with. He has a feeling he can trust her, but he's not sure that she has enough _practice_ being trusted to know to put his personal information in a different bin than everything else she takes in. Her past is muddy to him, but there are things that hint towards early beginnings and a broken psyche that's been pieced back together somehow.

He wants to ask her how she managed to put it back together. _If_ she managed it (because maybe she hasn't yet). He has yet to figure it out how to do it and he _needs_ advice.

But it's going to be slow going with her, because she needs more practice with being trusted. Eventually, he tells her Urdu was semi-born from a need to 'know thou enemy'. Sometimes businessmen can use the same strategies as spies and he thinks she's beginning to see that.

_Semi-born?_

He isn't ready to provide the other half of the answer and he tells her this with another of those sharp-toothed grins that he hates but can't control. He'll trust her with the first half and wait a while to see if he can trust her with a piece of the second half.

The bigger half.

In truth, he learned Urdu (is still learning it) because Yinsen spoke Urdu.

He's currently employing a man to teach him Dari (but only Pepper knows this) because Yinsen also spoke Dari.

Eventually he plans to learn a number of other dialects native to the region, as well as Hungarian. Because Yinsen spoke those too.

He supposes it's a tribute of sorts. Or a hobby. He just doesn't want to forget. Similar to the double-fingered gang sign he throws up at publicity shoots or charity events.

The kid is worth remembering too.

Maybe eventually others will understand these things and then they'll be able to remember too. Pepper knows. Rhodey knows some of it. He hopes Natasha will eventually understand too, but he'll take his time. Memories like these should be pure, untouched by bias or assumption or his own character flaws.

Yinsen deserves that and so does the kid.

* * *

_Perhaps a different take on this prompt than what was expected, but once I thought of it I rolled with it. :) Hope you are enjoying these!_


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